(Not) Planning My Funeral

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality. -Emily Dickinson (excerpt from Because I could not stop for Death)

It’s impossible to talk about cancer without mentioning death. That cancer diagnosis comes slamming into you, knocking you off into a corner of your own. While you hug and talk and spend time with all those you call friends, those you love, it’s still a lonely time. You and Death sit together, you unsure of the future, Death silently casting a pallor on everything, turning the world colorless and blurry. You have no choice but to attend to this unwelcome companion. Just as one does when faced with a powerful but disagreeable guest, I prepared for death. Willing or not, Death would stop for me.

I could not give you the details of those weeks between the trip to Disney World and my surgery. They passed by in the most mundane manner. I woke early in the morning, packed lunches, took kids to school. I spent time at the local YMCA sweating out my fears and worries. I cooked. I cleaned. I gathered with friends. Family consoled me. I cleaned out closets and filled the freezer with food. I spent all my free time getting everything just right for my awful guest.

January 19 rolled around. The day before surgery. I headed out for a day of stress-relieving fun… lunch and then pedicures with two very dear friends. Over a lunch of sandwiches and Diet Coke, we gossipped and joked and rambled on about everything and nothing. As the lunch drew to a close, a surprise dessert came to the table. In big chocolate letters surrounding a mound of chocolaty popcorn, it said “Go Team Erin.”

And just like that, everything snapped back into focus.

I had a team of people who loved and cared for me. Every text, every hug, every smile, every little gift told me it meant something that I was in their life. I wasn’t by myself in this journey. My husband, my family, my friends… they’d all travel with me. I was not alone.

Death still sat with me. Death still sucked the air out of the room. Death still told me I might need to plan my funeral. Death still whispered I was alone with so much regret, so many things left undone, unsaid. But for all Death’s fearful power, it only sharpened my focus, brightened my life, taught me to hug tighter and laugh more.

One day I will have a funeral. I hope it will take place at night under the stars. I hope there is a big campfire and a stream nearby. I hope everyone raises their bottle of beer or a strong cup of coffee and toasts to our days of adventure and laughter. I hope they speak of me kindly. I hope they voice how much they love and miss me. But I won’t need to be there because I already know.